Poke.

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This is my signature. It's the best one that you'll ever find, no matter where you go, ever. It's great, I mean, look at it! IT'S ADDICTING AND CRAZY! You wish yours was as great as mine, because mine actually has a little thing called, "awesome"

Yes.

This sounds somewhat interesting... may I know more, if you don't mind?

If possible, could I look at something you, or your friend, have wrote about this world?

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"If you lose your faith in me, please keep your faith in people." ~Rachel, The Dark Knight.

"Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, do not them no harm, for theirs is already a hard lot." ~Lisa, Castlevania.

unedited story i've been working on.
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Chapter 2
The Forest Stars


“The forest stars are beautiful…”

Part 1 – Slip




Katarinne shook her head, the field so bare compared to the other reaches of the Sylkoris Forest. Bingy giggled, gruff as his small form was. “Should we eh’, go fetch the damned gnome gan’?”
“It is only right… seeming as how we doomed him first anyway! It’s only trolls, the dumbest of stepflights!” the other form bellowed. Bingy nodded, kissing his long pole arm for luck…

Borei, his gnomish form flailing, hung from the massive tree branch above by a thin rope. It had been tied around his ankle, which had bound him, allowing him to see his world in strange, new perspectives. The forest around him shivered as the wind stalked their fading leaves. It whispered into the gnome’s ear, giving him a feeling of misfortune, not satisfaction. Incipient convenience it had seemed.
His situation at hand was serious, for even now, a camp of hungry trolls danced and whooped at his evident fall. They honored it with many lit torches and threatening spears, readying the cooking pits below. He was going to be cooked! That surely had not gone well in the gnome’s mind. The idea of home within troll acids dismissed all other problems at this moment.
Blood continued to rush to the gnome’s head, causing him to be rather aloof and dazed.
The ugly trolls felt the need to sunder the unfortunate gnome, wickedly and gruesomely with rusty tools, and even their damned claws. Borei sensed his plain demise, as unfortunate as it was, and hoped it would quickly end his days, for he saw no alternative. The rope began to snap, its poor workmanship failing. Gnome and all would plunge into the intimidating fires below. His weapon was not in its proper spot–his sheath or his hand–and it may now prove fatal. Oh how he wished for the gods to smile… but no reply.
The fat creatures below danced, muttering prayers to their infancy god and lick-ing their lips eagerly. They waited the fall of the tasty gnome to the cooking fires. Their feet pounded together menacingly, chanting their unfaithful tongue. The ceremony, it seemed, was handsome despite the creatures that created it. Magical entities flourished, turning the landscape various colors. Shamans, he knew were down there, spiritual folk.
The gnome’s inadvertently tragic cause seemed unimportant now, ready to fade with the world in stools, when a voice wheezed harmlessly through his mind. It was gentle, discrete, even tranquil, and… familiar. The gods had smiled now, for it had reassured hope despite imminent damnation. The voice had been different than the typical strident call. It was the color of soothing and numerical blue, a color most appeasing to the colorblind gnome. He would have missed the first call, had it been more completely masked by the scene below and even softer.
He listened, “Swing to the sides, land swiftly when I give the mark!”
His happiness arose, alleviated of the fact that he was not to fall into the dreadful trolls’ clutches to be cooked, and then dreadfully eaten. He silently thanked the gods once again, mostly with a smiling gesture than ill strengthening words.
It was simple enough, the gnome concluded, which in what was his commands. He attempted the hasty maneuver, swinging his captive self from side to side like a tinker gnome’s automated sundial hands, also called a “clock” All the while, he let his eyes wander innocently for the one named Katarinne, lady companion of magic. He had not found his familiar companion, no matter how many times he had watched from his lopsided world, but lieu, found a rustling bush. He could only guess that the sly girl was hiding there, ready to execute her plan of rescue (so he dearly hoped).
“Land!” the voice echoed once more inside of his head. Her words have taught many not to doubt her thoughts. Borei, knowing only a bit of his next course of action, swung to the right seemingly trying to land. How it was to be done, he had not known. The rope still held taut, despite its poor lacing. Albeit, then split as if nothing but air had penetrated. A dagger, it was, sliced through the air and hit home through the weak rope. The ground rushed up to gobble the gnome, and so he shielded his head by placing his hands over like a dwarf’s ridiculous helmet gear.
A great pain was expected from his material self, but rather, it never came. It was not right, so it seemed. He awaited the impact of the ground for long moments, fearing. The air that had weighed his features ceased to exist, so it seemed, and he could vividly hear the coos and gasps resounding repeatedly from the once hostile troll tribe. He then dared peek at his reason for not a broken arm…
The outcome had even caused the gnome himself to reassuringly gasp a few astonished breaths, his heart missing a beat. The ground loomed surprisingly half an arm length just before him, laughing. Yet, he fell no more, sickening. In lieu of falling to a broken arm or some other painful fate, he levitated! His body and features had suspended, amazing those around him (and himself, of-course). He also found that he could walk upright in the air, as if the ground had replaced itself under him. Magic had its ways, he concluded.
His embodiment swirled and swayed mid-air. The hungry trolls were dumb-founded, curious as to how their small and resilient prey remained suspended in the air, defying common logic and sciences. They were amazed at how he changed to being a pitiful morsel, to a magnificent god! Why had he not been set upon the ground once more? Instead, the trolls continued to stare, almost choking in fear as Borei began walking casually across the sky and around the troll camp. “What the… what is this?”
Only one word had explained these happenings, magician… What had been Katarinne’s plan for the levitation? He thought for a moment, the air and dust stinging his eyes. Deception? Oh yes, it only seemed correct, thought the godly Borei.
“Do your work, ol’ boy!” the gnome whispered to himself, seemingly rolling up his sleeves. His wonder ceased, and he now loomed high above the troll camp, watching his captivators scramble in fury through fear, imminent desperation, most grabbing at their shields and other forms of cover. The gnome gained a great grin, knowing what he is meant to do, and then began twisting his movements in notions most un-magic-like. Though, the trolls knew not of the aspects of magic, and so to the gnome’s credit, he was a powerful magician!
Borei brought his hands up over his head almost in an arch joined at the summit. His palms were up, hands curled inward. With a single flick of the wrist, clouds dripping with sacks of fresh rain had begun forming anew overhead, magic. Thunder sounded, causing much of the encampment to shudder, both in fear and despair, even regret. The gnome remained strong, even confident thus his might and nobility had kept so.
The sunset was belated for the time being due to the enormous clouds that had bloated themselves across the evening skies. The result had been a patchy forest miserable. Streaks of lightning outreached formidably from the clouds in a blink of an eye. They struck the ground repeatedly at places not so far away, to the gnome’s credit. One had even struck a tall tree and toppled it onto a hollow hut, crushing it like papyrus. Oh yes, destruction, power, it felt so keen! The gnome felt powerful, even as the trolls attempted to take up arms (or in some cases, some fell to their knees in fat fear) and attacked. The bolts of lightning battered away any potential threat to the gnome, providing a fun game.
So much power…

Bingy watched intently, Katarinne’s body contracting under the extreme level of magic coursing through her acute body. The demeanor she held was true, both power and control beneficial. The dwarf had tried to brush the unruly bushes as he watched the whimsical scene unfolding. He had also tried to not fizzle his co-panion’s vital spell casting.
Borei, gliding on his magical auras, was drowning in flowing and emanating circles, magic. Lightning struck from the heavens above, more threatening than actually harming.
“Can’t we eh’ just kill the durned things? It be faster...” Bingy grunted, pulling his cumbersome pole arm from his backside. No answer fled from Katarinne’s lips… nor did any hint come from her majestic movements. The dwarf snorted in reply, agitation, and then continued to survey Borei intently. This was the answer that he had often received from Katarinne, typical it seemed!
Green and chunky enemies had readied harsh weapons, but soon found them but smoldering ash, lightning battering them away. The dwarf would have loved to assist the puny gnome, but that could indeed ruin the rescue.
“Can’t I kill eh’ just one? I’ll be quiet bout’ it! I’ll just split em’ through their miserable little head… they don’t need that, aye?”
Katarinne briefly nodded a quick declination, half heeding the dwarf’s fuzzy and eager words. When the single word, “kill” came around, she ceased to listen. Bingy snorted once again, tossing his arms in reflected irritation. “If it be me way, I’d have had eh’ graveyard, or ah’ least a few heads watching my ragin’ axe from the shrubs of thy ground!”
The girl, this time, could not but help but giggle at that crude remark. Luckily, in result of her superior knit of power, the spell concentration never wavered, nor regressed. The dwarf lord’s words held evident streams of truth, though, his proud history having shone similar and more painstaking feats… and in which was not unusual.

Borei, who enacted his threatening revenge upon the troll tribe, laughed mani-cally as his exaggerated power showed its true colors to the environment. Having the element of deception and surprise, he could enact true horror upon the creatures below, just as long as the magic did not waver! Though, he did not hope for that, knowing Katarinne’s power rising to its pinnacle.
The fat, bulbous creatures called trolls, who screamed below, had now begun roaring and executing various commands in their foul language. None of the po-tentially lethal lightning bolts ever struck a living target as much as present a level of horror and digestion. Borei had even gone to coursing lengths such as to curse some of the ugly troll folk, knowing they would not understand in the least, in order to make up for the loss of true wrath. His power felt so keen, energized and naked. He knew he had not been the one to enact such powerful forces, but the feeling of deception was utterly delightful… suffice.
His hands felt power, reigning over his environment with an elaborate first, fixed upon total monopoly. Soon, though, that power was short-lived. The clouds dissi-pated like the gnome’s often-fast lunches. The lightning faded into the environ-ment while the thunder gave way to the sounds of a thousand singing birds. His power, the magical forces that gave him exhilaration faded from him. What seemed to be a good dream had been demolished and torn. What had happened?
Even those thoughts were cut short, for his levitation spell gave way and he fell from his floating domain in the high sky, fearing.

Katarinne collapsed, the air escaping her red lips. Her close eyes barred to a harsh shut as blackness overwhelmed her aspects. The magic was dispelled, lost, failed. The amazing principle about this failed manifestation was a few moments ago, the girl’s magic held strong and brilliant. But, as their rescue scenario was imminent, something had been sapped.
Bingy arose from the brush, questioning the turning of tides. “Girly, what ha-ppened?” he poked. Katarinne remained at best, unconscious. He prodded and tweaked hoping to the gods she had not died. His heart told him that that was not a possibility, though, knowing it a foolhardy thought. Something must have dis-pelled her thoughts, but an origin is ill found. She stirred, moaning, uncon-sciously. His concern died away from Kat, and instead to the gnome that fell from the sky like a newly formed raindrop. Thank thy lords and ladies, for a grass hut that broke his fall.
The dwarf took a passing glimpse again to his fallen magician companion, and then reared up at the ill ordered scene before him. He sighed.
“Seems as though the durned girl wouldn’t mind if I, ‘took over’ and played! Eh?” he muttered under his breath as he hung his emanating pole arm over his burly shoulders. This pole arm, his weapon of choice despite being ill favored within the dwarven races, could fell a giant in two strides–not much for a foe that mighty–. It whistled upsettingly as it made the transformation. He immediately and cogently scanned the sprawled area before him for his best course of action. Trolls were now gaining sanity, accumulating their odds of food, now. None ever saw the form arise from concealment, face of might.
Bingy worked to differ that chance. His swollen enemies groped at Borei, who kicked and hissed menacingly, who was but a few strides away. “Help! For all you’re worth! And hurry! They are, ‘touching’ me!” he yelled, panicked.
“Lucky they are only touching you! Hold ye’ blighted horses, ye’ dog tail son of a basin lizard! Ye’ magical square is ah’ comin’!” he cursed under his breath, mean-ing for the gnome to never hear. He chuckled at his remark about the square… referring to common dwarf stature. His march forward had been an ill quiet one at best. His dwarven mineral boots pounded upon the rough ground with every step. He hid not a single sound, alarming the fat creatures and interrupting their sin-cere feeding frenzy… and to the gnome’s substantial credit, Borei faired. Many had sought the gnome, but a good number had now turned their belligerences to a graver peril, the dwarf. Howling their rampage of battle cries, and then hastily rushing to meet the new foe, they failed to see their obvious doom…
“Let’s have an ale, eh? You be the one buyin’!” he shrugged, raising his pole arm for a killing blow. The trolls swarmed, with no strategy or formation, but rather began to throw themselves at the dwarf in huge masses of green, bulbous flesh and hard muscle. Forest trolls were never the greatest and most pleasant beings to battle, but they were certainly the most common! He would have loved the gnome to get captured by some other creature, like a kobold or maybe even a camp of Sena’Frey… then words could be exchanged! But all is all, even though the dwarf isn’t brandishing goblins, and instead, fat trolls.
“Caranark!” one screamed, flailing its axes wildly. Though, these huge stepflights out ruled the stout dwarf lord, they lacked true skill.
Bingy slapped aside the axes with minimal effort. He even giggled; the pole arm came down, swiftly with a benevolent whistle to cut down the figure cleanly in half, from the head down. Just as he nodded with approval, two more had taken its place. And, to add to the semi-successful attack, the slain corpse began to move once more. With the two severed pieces of the troll trying to replace its lost halves, the dwarf could not help but stare. But, before his very eyes, the pieces formed anew, doubling. Now, instead of being two severed pieces of one troll, there had indeed been two trolls created from the original.
Bingy gulped once, eyes outstretched, darting from scene to scene as his enemies closed in around him. “Hey! That’s cheatin’!”
Was it truly cheating? To a dwarf, anything could be deemed unfair, from the hair on his chin to the point of his helm. To the trolls, the reincarnation and multiplication were essential gifts, presumed vitamins. The fiends knew they had the upper hand, for if the dwarf were to cut one of them down, and then two more would form from the fallen. The most the tribe had to lose was a few broken huts, and maybe the loss of dinner, not death!
The dwarf gasped aloud, seeing not his future. His knees buckled as his ashen beard followed the sudden wind’s example. Sweat beaded his brow like a duck upon a pond’s surface. He did the only thing he could do… he ran. His short legs raised his brittle thoughts for a moment, along with his physical form of-course. While four trolls sought to cut him off from the front, three new foes arched their backs and snarled a mishap intimidation, taking places in the rear. It did nothing of the sort, the flaming latter group hot in pursuit, to affect the hardened dwarf. They too, now lunged at him, seeing as how another group cut the dwarf off.
Bingy reached a hill, too steep to climb and by far not aiding his current need. The trolls making up his rear saw a flash of victory in their obscure eyes, hidden by fat. The dwarf sighed, kicked the dirt, and remarked, “Seems I’m the cornered mouse now,”
No more than disjoined snort echoed, reflecting the troll’s apologies of life. Albeit, it was typical, of all stepflights. The dwarf readied what little resistance he had against the trolls, and rounded his stance to a high place, a large slope only a few strides from the struggling gnome. He flared his pole arm menacingly, attempting to whisk away attacks. They seemed to laugh, surrounding the dwarf. They were laughing, brushing off any thoughts of defeat.
A husky troll from the south side had now approached the battle-ready dwarf. Bingy grunted a long and braying hiss, and waved his trusted pole arm in a warning. The troll, though, did not worry nor take a note of the stout soldier’s skill. “I’m warnin’ you!”
Nothing but a nod replied. Bingy smiled, no, not smile, but sneered. The troll came closer, and with one mighty swing from the magnificently honed dwarf’s silver weapon, the green mass fell back to the ground below. He cursed himself, the troll dividing into two more. Legs, head, limps, they all replaced the old and formed anew. Brilliant race, the dwarf had concluded, yet dangerous. He took a few desperate glimpses from each reach of the mound that he stood upon. The gnome continued to fight off the trolls with his bare limbs, but soon one had gotten a hold upon his leg and now begun towing. He screamed, finding some tool to use as a weapon from the rubble nearby.
Bingy had to get to the gnome before he was soup, or some other food. The troll warriors held strong in a tight circle around the mound. They slowly closed in, weapons readied. The dwarf chuckled, and grinned, “Well len’, make me day!”
The green masses nodded, meaning to take that gracious offer. They all leaped for the dwarf headlong. But, when they had looked at their prey, or thought to, they merely found themselves in a lofty, almost lavender pile. The dwarf escaped?
Bingy hung from a thin branch above, higher than the trolls could reach. His shoes provided the magic needed to have made the jump, “Thankee Crotzabin”
His view had lifted, allowing him to see the wide clearing with anticipation. Katarinne still lied limp in the bushes, and the gnome had now been fully engulfed by troll arms. The trolls below attempted to jump at the dwarf, but failed every time. To his dismay, some readied spears and other javelin to bring the mass down.
He had instigated his body swinging back and forth in an attempt to chuck himself into the area of the gnome. Then, something caught his eye. In the middle of the clearing, stood a strange troll, much more burly than the others and draped with clothing representing spirituality. Shaman perhaps? He seemed to be glaring at the dwarf, green teeth brandishing. This could have been the very shaman that sapped Katarinne’s energy and left her a weak puddle.
The dwarf paid no mind to the new threat, and concentrated on reaching his companion in his time of utter need. His legs swung out in a large circle, when suddenly, his hold smoldered and fell limp. His momentum had already begun to shoot him through the air. As he glided in a diagonal line into the bare ground below, he realized that he had not a branch when swinging, but rather, a snake. How could this be? It was a branch!
As they fell, snake and dwarf together, screams emerged from both. Bingy missed his targeted spot on the cushioned hut roofing, thus dropping the hard ground. They landed with a large thumb, snake crawling away unharmed. The dwarf lay still, on his back, belling the welling pain. “Yow! Damned forest” he belched. But, despite being in a forest with lots of critters about, he had no doubt in mind that the shaman had altered the branch into the snake in an attempt to drop the dwarf. Indeed it worked, and now many trolls ran to meet the fallen form. Bingy must regain his footing, so he concluded. He groveled, realizing a tweaked neck. His pole arm at the ready and his face contorted with annoyance, skipped for the panicking gnome.
“Ima comin! Don’t ye’ worry! We’ll be in Chalistad before sundown!” the dwarf promised himself, coughing a strain of thick blood and saliva. He had no choice but to take a swift beeline for the captive gnome. His face was replaced by a rushed, furious tone. Pounding with all his might and his muscle, he though couldn’t outpace the troll shaman. It stepped in front of him, swinging with a weak flash. “How rude!” Bingy snorted, slicing a niche in the troll’s side. It gutted in pain, not as susceptible to pain as the warriors of the tribe. But, despite the alleviating blood that ran down its side, it laughed. “You… are… too… late!” it wheezed. “Ugly sonava animation”
He slashed again, now severing its legs. Surprisingly, it did not waver in its laughing. “You… are… too–”
“Late… I be knowin’!”
The dwarf ran for the gnome, but soon found his leg at a pause. A cold creep raced up his leg… almost like the days in, Northlands! He knew what it was for why it was. It was ice! He paused to inspect the newest optical, and sighed. Ice engulfed his foot completely, as well as some of his leg. He attempted to pick at it, but soon ceased, seeing that his leg had gone numb. If he were to shatter the outlying ice that held his limp captive, it could very well shatter his entire leg into various crystals. That did not sound appealing in any way.
In the distance, the warriors now approached, readying the kill. Bingy had a raw and rather metallic feeling; he had not a chance of saving his friends…

Unlex stirred upon his seat, next to the great companion. Isloth was shrouded in dark clothing, hiding her face from the harsh light above. She wore a veil, hooded with baggy clothing. She rode a great height on a brilliant, blackened stallion. It was a marvelous pick for her type, and her profession. Her younger companion had rode in a thin breastplate with the sign of the warrior upon the front. His hair was matted with dirty sweat, and his face held a measure of anticipation, as did Isloth. Though, Unlex had seemed puny while riding his pony, he had remained at a constant cool with Isloth, who directed him through his travels.
“We shall reach Chalistad before two hundred strides!” he calculated, just about tipping his pony. “Three hundred and six strides… until we reach Chalistad” Isloth corrected, smirking under her blue veil. Unlex frowned, hissing with play. They both giggled, and kicked their pace.
“They should have reached Chalistad before our arrival. Where did they choose to adorn?”
Isloth cut the puny companion short… not for the first time, “The Rearing Dolphin”
He cocked his head, chuckling a bit. “’The Rearing Dolphin’? Odd names now adays! Might as well have a sincere name of, ‘The Herbivore Blood Flounder’”
“T’was not by my pick. Bingy insisted it the best tavern of the area, and I do not doubt!”
Her reasoning was cogent. Dwarves and their ale had indeed been an obvious intent in Angeous. If anyone knew ale, it would be Bingy, and maybe the tavern girl, Katarinne. Such thoughts had made Unlex suddenly hungry, feeling the dark pit within him boil with anger. The smell of meat had caused his innards to moan with mishap anger, not enticing the man’s thoughts.
“We positively near Chalistad, my bones ah’ achin’!”
Isloth giggled, her form brilliant and elegant. Prosperous, this forest was. Sylkoris was by far a wonder of this world, as was the great forests of the Northlands. Though, Isloth despised Courtpine, its cold biting her limbs like a wolf at its prey. Unlex was attuned to such climates. Growing up in Northlands, as had Bingy and Katarinne had, he has come to learn that the forest was a realm all its own. Every aspect encountered here was but an insight of trepidation. Father nature had a grasp taut so embroidered into his wonders that a mere mortal could never erase its beauty.
“The forest is grand! Better with snow, though…” he played.
Isloth did not make a reply, but rather a gesture. Her hands whisked and swayed as if in an uncaring manner. “You should learn to love not having snow… as its bite can kill. Out here, your pain is your own, not natures. Unless you choke on dirt, climate is not deadly. You thrive on death… yes?”
Unlex coughed at himself, and to Isloth. “Thrive on… what are ye’ thinkin? I don’t thrive on… that’s repulsive! I merely enjoy snow more than the filthy ground here!”
She shook her head, satisfied with the frothed retort. “Then you enjoy your under flesh meager…”
The man stopped in his tracks. “My flesh meager? Well, I could prove you wrong… if you’d like, of-course”
But by the time his remark had left his astounded lips, Isloth ran ahead, wind against her now exposed cheeks.

Bingy moaned, his head feeling as though a rock had bit down upon his neck. His environment was blurry, faded. Where was he? Why had he felt this way? Questions contested through his dazed mind. Harsh voices were heard, gawking and coughing. Words were unknown then, thought they might as well have been a dwarven language.
A sharp stinging pain had pressured his cheeks just then, followed by muffled voices. They were unfamiliar, except one. A ringing had begun to engulf his ears before a single word had found its way through the dwarf’s fading mind, “Rest…” And he did just that, fading into blackness once again, his mind not worthy for reality just yet.

Borei shivered, having been stripped by his captivators. Katarinne had not been touched other than the mere timeline used to tie against a tree, torches lingering ever near. Bingy was smiling dumbly, his reality lost in waves of unconsciousness. The trolls readied new cooking fires, having three souls to feast upon, rather than merely one stoutfolk!
“sst, Kitty, thanks for the help!” Borei sarcastically whispered, winking to Katarinne. She smirked, enticing her thoughts with the area around her. “At least we tried… You’re lucky that we had even thought to look for ye’ in the troll moors!”
“Well, tis’ is a rotten rescue” he remarked in a soured expression.
“Indeed” she retorted, also a sour expression.
The shaman whom Bingy had fought now stood healed, no longer a stubble. He waved trinkets and wands in the air, chanting various carrions of spitting words. His heal was not of the unordinary, as shamans often wielded the raw power to heal.
The companions were bonded to stakes, save Katarinne who was bolted to the upper half of a tree, just like epigenous. They had all feared their fate at that moment, as would any sane sentient.
The shaman swayed in a corporeal dance, melodically and sensually. Borei was the first to try to communicate with the fat creature, even if he had not the intentions for doing so. He raised his head, grunted once, and then began to murmur to himself. The troll discerned his food’s odd presentation, and remarked, “Do you feel death?”
The gnome took immediate concentration upon the troll, announcing his disclosure. This troll knew common? “What?” he replied, looking around, mostly to Katarinne. “Do you feel death?” it came again, now in a brisk, pressuring tone. The gnome licked his lips, and then glanced down at his legs, then back up at the troll. “Ye- yes”
“Good…” it grinned, and then looked up to examine Katarinne, intently. It bounced over, leaving impressions in the floor as the ground gave way under its weight. The shaman got close, kissing distance. “Do you also, feel death?”
Katarinne turned her head, its breath pounding the breadth of her cheeks. She merely gave a intimidating glance, and spit. The shaman backed away, wiping the saliva from his face. Rather than disposing of the liquid, the troll sucked it dry, and then turned to look up at the sickened Kat once more. “Good…”
“Release us! We be no harm,” the gnome shouted. He was victorious in receiving a glance from the hideous creature, “All in good time, my little friend… prey”
It laughed, unnaturally and with ill courtesy of its life.
“You should release us. If you don’t, bad things can happen. You wouldn’t want bad things to happen, aye?” Kat threatened. The troll shrugged, laughing even more as a result. He grinned evilly, back hunched with hands rubbing together eagerly. “Silence magic user! Your magic does not work here… not anymore! You food now, for Scarmane! Feel honored…”
“Who the weasel is Scarmane?” the gnome outburst. Katarinne just about sniggered, had it not been the desperate situation at hand.
The shaman looked upon the two–three if you count the unconscious dwarf–with an astounded perplex. He cocked his fat head, once to the right and then to the left. “It’s the eater of dreams!”
Katarinne went wide-eyed, going over their route through Sylkoris. The dream eater is here? That isn’t even in Sylkoris! “I thought the dream eater was a fiend?”
The troll shook his floppy head, and licked his cut lips. “No… he has many forms. Many are by the likes of your confound”
He began to pace, as if telling a young child a story. His eyes were bloodied, yet set upon an intimidating tale. “It is hungry. It is in need of another dream, another legacy. You seem like you would be a more than suffice volunteer for the work!” he pointed, Katarinne in his wake. She gave a whimper, but soon lifted her head in strength. Her lips moved as if desiring to speak, but nothing came forth. She only sighed, the lowered her head once again. “Do you fear, him?”
The troll could only mean the dream eater, and certainly, Katarinne was afraid of the thing. Stories have gone around many times over Angeous noting the terror. She was to face it now? Horrific, it had seemed. Katarinne’s lips encircled the words of agreement, but soon found a better use of her speech. “Nay. I doubt its powers, despite children’s stories”
Borei shook his head in agreement, meaning to deflect any aggression from either of the two. Bingy had grunted in reply also, now sleeping rather than unconscious. The shaman figure laughed, and then walked over to a suspended shelf full of vast vials and potions. He chose a small, lavender vial with but a few drops of a gooey liquid within. He agitated it, causing it to bubble and gurgle.
“What is your name?” it asked both of them, awaiting an answer for a long while. The troll first gazed at Borei, knowing the gnome more reliable on caving. They waited for a long while, no other sound coming forth besides Bingy’s snoring. “Well?”
Borei gave an absent glare, and then began moving his lips, before something deterred that, “Don’t Speak” a voice commanded. Borei held his tongue, just in time. Of-course, it was Katarinne’s voice, her mind open to the telepathic world. The troll almost jumped up in fury. “Your thoughts are not safe… Borei and Katarinne” it scratched. “I am the telepathic world! You know not of whom you are dealing with!”
The gnome chuckled, not lightly, “An ugly, and insane troll?”
The creature came fast, swiping Borei’s smile with one vast move, a bash. He gutted in pain, lips bleeding. “Silence! You will soon find at home within a shell of your body!”
The troll smiled, rotting teeth revealing their odd nature, and then clapped twice. Three warriors appeared, bigger than any of them had seen yet, and bowed before the shaman without question. Each had long, iron armor that was painted with a thin layer of newly acquired rust (and some blood). “Baranark!” he choked at the brutes. They bowed once more, and severed each companion’s bonds. Just as Borei saw his chance to run, he found that his legs would not function, as they should. He looked down, and found not slippers, but spliced hooves. He realized, that his body had grown white, bushy fur like a… sheep! He was a sheep!
A bah was all that came forth from Borei now, Katarinne stood in fury. “Change him back!” she roared, taking a torch as a weapon. She managed to fend off the soldier trolls from invading, but the shaman had no problem sundering the flame into nothingness. The girl found the torch but a wick.
“Scarmane enjoys his food in its sordid form. Sheep are a suffice form–”
“I thought you were going to eat us, not thou dream eater!” she retorted, confused now as the warriors closed in upon her.
“No… The dwarf shall be lunch, while you and your halfling friend are given to my lord”
Katarinne sniffed, almost mocked. “Gnome…”
“Offering!” the troll retorted faster than the girl believed possible.
She paced, shrugging off the gropes from the trolls. Her face held torment, with a hue of despair. “Offering… you be makin’ me laugh. I have powerful friends, ones that those by even the likes of you cannot withstand!”
The elegant troll looked around, mocking her words. “No, it seems as though your friends have failed to best us!”
No doubt there. Katarinne had also looked around, searching for some hope, but none was found. But, something curious had found its way into her thoughts. The troll still had the vial in its hand, almost played with it. She stared at it, contemplating. Her rival found her fascination, “Ah yes, and the liquid. Grand stuff for us trolls. Makes us strong! Would you like to try some?”
Kat spit on the floor before the troll and remarked, “Nay. You feed us lies, when are you going to feed us to the Beliac?”
The shaman did not miss the reference to his lord’s true demon title. It caused him to snicker, almost crying with laughter. “Soon enough… soon enough!”
And with that, his hurled the vial through the air faster than the alarmed Katarinne could discern. It struck the ground before the girl smoke engulfing her image. She let out an outstretched scream, but soon found it muffled as a squeal (almost a whistle) replaced. The smoke cleared, and Katarinne found herself a fat, black rat!

And Bingy never woke up.

They reached the gates to Chalistad before the fall of the sun, and rise of the moon. The city was booming with activity, races from all over both the planes and Angeous. The local guard, a group of rogue archers, upheld the laws with every aspect possible. The wall was molded by clay and mud, while the buildings were of the like. Marvelous, Unlex noted. Isloth did the same, though this is where she grew up in her younger days. This place was not unfamiliar.
Structures were fairly spread apart, leaving narrow alleyways for criminals to instigate collusions. Towers adorned the wall that surrounded the city, guards in each. Isloth hid her face under the shadow of her hood, Unlex breathed freely.
They entered the Rearing Dolphin, not many eyes watching. The tavern was stifling, smell of sweat and beer invading their senses. To Isloth, it was home. To Unlex, it was unhygienic. They took up two seats at the bar stools, lowering their heads casually. The bartender came around; fresh glasses of ale in his bulky hands for the two now perched upon the counter. “What be your night?”
Isloth never looked up, only down where the man could not discern whom she might be. “We are well,” Unlex nodded “how you be?”
“I be feelin’ like a unicorn’s tail!”
He nodded, and left to attend other patrons. Isloth giggled, more mysterious and withdrawn than a response to actual humor.
“It seems as though we have beat the others!” she announced, veering her array of sights to a denpot selling caged cockroaches, along with leashes.
Unlex nodded in reply, but then looked to a table just to the right of the two companions. Goblins occupied it, followed by gambling humans who seemed too cocky for the situation. A board had been outspread across the table like a dining cloth. It held various figurines and twelve-sided dye. Silver coins built structures across the board, even valleys. “They be loud, gambling on a child’s board game” he chuckled, trembling his head.
“I wish to rid myself of this place, and get me some sleep,” the young man complained, feeling drained and unsatisfied.
“By Katarinne’s command, we wait”
Unlex snorted, lowering his head upon the table, dozing off. Isloth clouted him on the back, causing him to grow in stature once more. “Stay awake,” she ordered. His eyes drooped, and his muscles rested into a puddle. He continued to lower his head, usually had been gradually falling upon Isloth’s side, only to be awaken again by her clout. Soon, though, the beautiful woman gave in, letting the young man rest upon her arm. His weight did not bother her, for she wore thin armor that outweighed him ten fold, and yet she still did not take a care.
As the night drew on, Isloth soon found herself also falling into a sleepy wake. Her wine had only kept her awake for a certain amount of time. Its effects are wasting now, her mind restless, and body drained. She looked down upon her half-empty tankard with more than a little discontent. She rubbed her right eye, feeling the sting of tire.
The tavern had mistakenly gone inaudible, glamorized by the night. Though, as all late night affairs progress, a small few enjoy drowning their faces in alcoholic beverages rather than replenishing their body with sleep. Isloth did likewise, except she ill enjoyed it.
“Any more of ur’ wine tonight, milady?” the bartender whispered, meaning no need to awaken the slumbering Unlex. Isloth arose from her trance with her wine, and bobbed her head in declination. “Nay”
He dipped his head in a bow, and departed from the bar to fetch a tablet of parchment, ragged and ripped down many of its borders. He had also come with a quill, feather elegant overhead. He placed it before Isloth, belling his obvious excitement. “Are ye’ lookin’ to stay here ta’night?” he smirked, his mustache wrinkled around his mouth. “Indeed, if you allow this den plausible”
He bobbed once, and then pointed to the paper and quill, “Indeed, I do”
Isloth looked upon the piece of paper, unknown as to what the symbols and creases of ink had meant in any way. She rattled her head, blank. “I… I am not educated in the ways of reading,” she paused, noting the man’s weary unsatis-faction, “and writing”
He sighed once, looked to the ground, and then back up at Isloth as well as to the parasite upon the girl’s arm. “Ye’ need to be able to sign the guestbook, and only then will I allow ur’ room to being occupied!”
She contemplated her next moves, wondering if a room was needed. If she had paid the money, but soon after had reacquainted themselves with their companions, the money would be at an unnecessary loss. But, she found it was the sixth hour in the night, and knew it foolish to keep awake.
She awoke Unlex, and has him sign the guestbook and take the room, also surrendering five silver coins for the cause.
The night from there was settling as they slept in the same bed, not bothering to dim any candles or separate themselves. Their weariness overwhelmed them, and they embraced the darkness of sleep with open arms. Their adventures would continue in the next few hours, but until then, they will rest, side-by-side.

* * * * * *
As the moon faded behind the morning hills, the sun took its place, shedding the land in endearing light. It awoke Unlex immediately, feeling regenerated and refueled. Though, he had a surprise when he found a beautiful woman in bed with him. At first, he had believed it to be some midnight virgin, but he soon realized it was Isloth! He quickly dispatched his wears then hurried downstairs.
Slowly, but steadily, Isloth awoke just as Unlex had. She slipped on some decent clothing, her bare skin open to the cold air. Bumps erupted from her skin, shivers following. She quickly reacquainted herself with the protection of her clothing, and then crept downstairs to rendezvous with Unlex.
When she had gotten downstairs, Unlex wasn’t to be found. A few patrons were asleep on their tables along with some slums finding shelter near the door. Beer flooded the floors as well as broken glass. The bartender was not to be found. Her suspicions heightened, engrossed into the mysterious moment. As she turned around, though, she had almost experienced a collision with another form. She gasped, jumping out of her skin with one, rather sober leap. It was Unlex!
“Sorry, I doubtfully startled you” he apologized, stroking her brilliantly sooth hair.
She shook her head and swatted away his hand with her hood that now replaced. She stared him in the eyes, only to turn away to the bar countertop. “Did the others happen to sign in?”
Unlex followed her example, flipping through the guestbook. She looked up at him, and slid the leather book over. “Are they in there?”
She could not read. He understood her reasoning, as it was cogent. It had always been like this.
Unlex flipped through the guestbook, examining each and every name. The con-tents held the time, day, and room number occupied. Millions of names occurred, dating back to more than fifty years ago. No matter how many pages he turned, it seemed that the book did not run out of pages to turn! Isloth observed the same, watching his motions with her pupil-lacking eyes.
His face had gone stern, muscles confused. Not until he got to a page, spaces blank did he close the book. “They have not signed,” he announced, mostly out of trepidation.
They looked at each other, then back at the door, which was standing at an open. “Shall we track them?” Isloth suggested, sounding sincere.
Unlex grunted, hopelessly. “We should, but we do not have a tracker!” True enough. The two had not the skill to track, nor hunt. They would have to hire someone to do it for them, but that costs more than a few gold pieces. The girl sat down, Unlex falling in behind. “You have lived here, aye?”
Isloth bobbed her head up and down. “All me childhood, love” she winked. “Til’ my father dumped me off on the ragged ol’ streets!”
“Then you must surely know a tracker in these parts, correct?”
She shook her head in declination. “No… Me father is a tracker, er, was a tracker, before he made a resting place among the dirt” They both sighed, grabbing hands. “Should we wait then?” Unlex looked to the ceiling, spider webs gathering to grace the dust. His mind had begun to race with ideas. But as Isloth found in her own mind, they all reeked of failure. The times were hard pressed. Even now, webs gathered around them as the days grew older. “Katarinne had told us, should our meeting be delayed two days then we shall approach the acts for thy search”
Suddenly Isloth arose from her seat next to Unlex, wide-eyed. Her expression had shown desperation and more than anything, excitement. “And we can do it with Greeny!” she blurted before thinking. “Greeny, he is a thief’s slave. A goblinoid”
Her companion cocked his head, not understanding. “So?” he mocked. His feet rolled up top the counter. She gave him a wrinkle, and then pulled him up from his seat. “Goblins are less intelligent than a troll, and thieves have the skills of dirt. If we may trick this goblin into leading us to a rogue, surely we may find a volunteer to lend us some of their, ‘dirt’… You follow, aye?” she explained. Unlex shrugged, but also saw the genius in that plan. “Sounds suffice”
She smiled, walking out of the door, her companion close behind. “Off to this goblin friend of yours then, aye?” Unlex eyed. She gave him a smirk. “Aye, to find our friends!”

Part 2 – Dreams




He ambled through the merchant’s quarter of the city with utter ease. None failed to respect the man, knowing he could penetrate their backs with a knife at any time. He was unusually confident this day came. One might think him a fool for strolling in the open with so many enemies lurking. But never has this rogue overlooked such a vital aspect of plight. Even now, stealthy comrades run in the shadows around him, ready to defend the man with their lives.
He stifled a beeline to the nearest alcove in the adorning cave, serving as an old temple, ruined by age and abandon. His figure darted inside with no hesitation. Doubtfully, someone had seen him. The celestial interior smelled of old dirt and grime. Debris marinated the floor, as well as rich sun-light. The pillars that upheld the high ceiling held evidence of rot. The chamber was huge, even misplaced within Chalistad. Where grand designs had decorated the walls and windowpanes of this ruined temple, the normal of Chalistad had been a colorful sign. The altar that stood greatly at the end of the marvelous chamber discerned a noble folk, thrusting a brilliant staff upward into the sky above. The rogue did not fail to bow before continuing. That was Reeve, the champion of stolen goods– a lower god, his god.
Lurid as his voice had been this night, he sighed and patted the broken pews and set down through the walkway onto the altar. A chalice awaited him on the flat facet, idle. It held a black liquid that bubbled silently in itself, gaining ferocity as the rogue approached. He looked upon it with no enthusiasm, and sighed once for good measure. He took up the chalice and engulfed it completely. His facial expressions contorted and seemed to rot before him as the black tar ran down his throat. It was salty and defying.
“Marsoon!” the sounds around him spun. Again the word came. His visions blurred and his environment shifted. Again came the word. It was just a word, until he realized that his name had been replaced by that word. He opened his eyes.
A gruff man, clad in purple rags answered his plead. The chamber that he once had accompanied now was a long corridor, dark and fuzzy. Torches rimmed the walls, glowing incandescently as well as providing subtle warmth in the chill. An eerie wind ran through like a stampede of elephants. The tiled floor scratched with rough sand that layered. An orange and creamy blanket of light brightened the unblinking walls.
This man that had stood before the rogue was fat and bearded. It curved out, much like that of the stoutfolk. His eyes burnt hazel and his lips bled red. He was bear bald as if he had the plains of Salranvar etched into his skin, adrift. His mouth echoed incoherently at first, but the hazy words were made cogent.
The rogue blinked.
“Marsoon! Welcome a’back! Hope the entrance didn’t affect ye’ mind now!”
Marsoon, the steady and lengthy rogue, whimpered so that he almost buckled his footing and fell embarrassingly. Bumps arose from his skin like newly formed towers. He felt tremulous, almost weightless. “Blast that damned port!” he bellowed, spitting at the broken wall behind. The round sir slapped him on the back swiftly and with much enthusiasm. “Always is rough going through those portals, even for the great such as the likes of you” He rolled in his wavering stance a bit. His gazes fell to his feet (if he saw that much through his belly) then back up at the readjusting, empathetic Marsoon. “What brings ye’ here, O’ master of plans?”
The rogue lolled his stiff head rotationally on his shoulders, neck cracking. His gaze met the man’s like, squarely. “I am not to be thy cavorting rogue, Dunar, and am rather looking for the ill!”
Dunar smiled. “As am I, as am I. We are all friends here, dear Marsoon, but you are deemed late for the council meeting. Those who saw your absence were not at all pleased. I certainly do not blame thou who attended to see such negligence, disloyalty, in you. You were not in ye’ proper seat, and can be hunted for such!”
The rogue grew wide-eyed more from surfacing rage than surprise. His features delicately stepped from the gooey pedestal and compared Dunar to himself. “Marsoon, I was sent to kill you! If ye’ had not versed before I came for you, the rogues of Chalistad would have been but thieves without a callin’! Kill on sight my brother… tis a harsh life, even for ye’self”
The epic rogue, clad in red veils and black market leather stood exactly one foot taller than the fat man, and blinked once more defiantly. His shady overlook shadowed the light from his face, his black hair flailing merrily. “Why you, my ‘friend’?” his features held stern, yet his mouth squeezed a sly crook to back. “Why have they sent a man such as you, a thug, to cleanse my city of Course Barbs? You are deeply outmatched, friend”
“Marsoon–”
“Garden! Your tongue shall be hung from my dagger in infamy should you insist on referring to me as that usurper cannon! He was no brother to me, and I shall not hold that state…” Garden, previously Marsoon the rogue, retorted handsomely. A hand came forth freely from its paisley idle to latch upon the fat man’s squishy neck. “Now, go on…”
Dunar blinked, coughing the grip off. “Forgive me, O’ lord Garden, they thought I’d be that in which could defeat the stench of you with a secretive weapon, handed by the gods themselves. Fancy that, aye?”
Garden grinned as well as decrepitly laughed. “Oh? They believe that you could so easily best me in a mere mirth of struggle? And a secret weapon you say? What might that be, a whore? They tried that last time, and it only slowed me for a half day!”
The man shook his floppy face. “Indeed. Please… let… me go!”
His grip fell limp and his hand swiftly reunited with his knife hilt before Dunar’s saggy neck could reform. “So? What’s thy super weapon, killer?”

--
This is my signature. It's the best one that you'll ever find, no matter where you go, ever. It's great, I mean, look at it! IT'S ADDICTING AND CRAZY! You wish yours was as great as mine, because mine actually has a little thing called, "awesome"

Yes.

Well... I'm bought. I enjoyed reading that, and wouldn't mind reading more, if possible. I enjoy fantasy as such, and that gave me something of a nostalgic feeling. ^_^

I'm interested in your project, do you have a website, or forums, for this? I'm not sure if I can say I write as creatively as you (I'm truly impressed with this tale ); but I'd like to try perhaps.

--
"If you lose your faith in me, please keep your faith in people." ~Rachel, The Dark Knight.

"Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, do not them no harm, for theirs is already a hard lot." ~Lisa, Castlevania.

Well, I'm actually creating the code for the website right now, so it isn't up but soon it will be. I am creating the Campaign Setting (tells about the world from micro detail) at the moment, and sadly will not be done soon but I can always give you an overview of the world.

Well, if you are indeed intent on writing some stuff then go ahead. I've got two other people plus me writing in this world at the moment, so conversation between them is welcome. I shall create a temporary forum soon (within next two days).

Are you intent on publishing, or are you writing just for fun? I'm fine if you publish. I don't charge =^)

--
This is my signature. It's the best one that you'll ever find, no matter where you go, ever. It's great, I mean, look at it! IT'S ADDICTING AND CRAZY! You wish yours was as great as mine, because mine actually has a little thing called, "awesome"

Yes.

That's cool, am looking forward to seeing the website then!

An overview would be lovely, thankyou. ^-^

I'd like to, but after I get a better idea of it; since I don't want to make any "bloopers", or something.

My group, you mean? We'd like to someday ; but if you mean your world? Depends on whether you mind, or not. I would never publish anything without a writer's permission... so I guess for right now, it's just all for fun.

--
"If you lose your faith in me, please keep your faith in people." ~Rachel, The Dark Knight.

"Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, do not them no harm, for theirs is already a hard lot." ~Lisa, Castlevania.

do you have any writing you could show me? just to show your habits.

You have permission, as long as you don't steal anything, of-course
I'll send in a description of the world as soon as I can. wont be long.

--
This is my signature. It's the best one that you'll ever find, no matter where you go, ever. It's great, I mean, look at it! IT'S ADDICTING AND CRAZY! You wish yours was as great as mine, because mine actually has a little thing called, "awesome"

Yes.

Well, I have alot of manuscripts, with my group... but those are future storylines, so I can't show them... umm... I guess I could show a little of my recent, but loosely written, roleplaying character...

And I would never do that! Me, and my group, are super paranoid of others stealing our ideas; so absolutely not! ...also, it drives me nuts when somebody forgets to give proper credit; so don't worry about that.

Okayies... and here's something I wrote for a roleplay I joined (not my absolute best writing, since it was for a roleplay, but okay)...

* * *

In a small room in the doctor's house, of London; a bleeding man had been brought in by locals who hardly cared for him, as they left shortly after bringing the stranger in; while the doctor, Armster, and his assistant doctor-in-training... whom happened to be visiting him that night... leaned over this man, whom neither of them had an idea of who he was... and wouldn't know for quite some time, seeing as this man hardly had any strength to even open his eyes.

Blood. Flowing pool of blood.

A nervous girl of eighteen, stood by her teacher's side; as Dr. Armster was leaning over the patient, who seemed to have gotten himself in something of a fight... what kind of fight? The villagers who had brought him, hardly said a word about what had happened... and if they did, the girl did not overhear; during the confusion of collecting the man, and laying him down to be comfortable in front of the fireplace.

Being in something of a small state of shock, Alexandrie couldn't get her thoughts focused enough to try deducing how this poor man came to this condition. In her young mind, the blood seemed to be flowing everywhere... and was all over Dr. Armster's forearms, and coat; as well as on herself, as she silently moved around the room, following the doctor's orders.

The blood wasn't as bad as a, "pool of blood"... more that of a mere, "puddle", which surrounded the poor chap... but still, blood was blood; and this man was in near fatal condition...

Dancing shadows across the injured man, and the only man she could call her family, as of right now; seemed to be drifting into the darkness of the room, even as she stared... or was it because she stared so? not snapping herself out of this state of shock... worry burrowed the girl's brow, as dark thoughts began to make their way into her innocent mind... doubts... what if... what if he didn't... make... it...

"...liquor... Alexandrie! Are you listening, child?" Dr. Armster was looking up with concern upon her; with his stern, yet gentle face, which only slightly brought her back to earth. His blue eyes, behind his glasses, searched her face briefly; coming to the realisation the girl was, for some reason, startled by the amount of blood, this time.

"Alexandrie... it's only blood... you've seen it before... but girl, I need you to get the liquor from my cabinets. Now, please!" His voice was steady, and stern; that of a hardworking, and strict, doctor; but not unlike that of a father's, which was the undertone concern for his assistant.

Without a word, the girl broke from her frozen state of simply staring; and began to move towards the cabinet on the other end of the dark room... as a vision of... hooded figures seemed to be moving along the wall... what... why...

"A candle, dear! Please, light a candle!" Dr. Armster's voice called from the other end of the room; where, apparently, he did not hear the girl gasp in fright... the dark always frightened her... yet she loved it... it fascinated her... but maybe, that was because it did frighten her... why, she didn't know.

Alexandrie lit a tall candle; and grimaced at the small flame, feeling uncomfortable with the flickering fire. The image of a burning barn was coming to mind; but with a shake of her head, and dark curls; Alexandrie blocked the... memories...? out of her thoughts.

"Doctor... there is har'ly any rum left..." Her voice was very small, and had the hint of a slight tremble; but was enough for Dr. Armster to catch.

With an irritated feeling, not at the girl, but at the typicalness of the situation; Dr. Armster sat back resting his hands on his lap, studying the man with an upset face; only to bend over once more quickly to make sure the injured chap was comfortable; as the man had shifted rather suddenly, with a bloody cough.

"He has a fever. Alexandrie, I'm going to need you to go down to the pub - don't talk to anybody on the streets... try to hurry..." Dr. Armster ordered, while Alexandrie, for some reason, feeling ashamed, placed the quarter-filled bottle into the doctor's hand; and the candle to the table for the doctor's vision of the patient. "Hurry, child!"

Not even bothering to do a quick clean up (why would it even cross her mind, at a time like this...?); Alexandrie pulled a dully coloured brown cloak over herself; and opened the door, causing a chill draft to sweep into the room briefly; before she closed it once more, hurrying down the steps into the dark streets.

The smell of blood was sickening, but strong on her person; as Alexandrie tried to ignore it, while hurrying through the fog that began to set itself into the night ahead of her... the streets were silent, eeriely silent; yet in her state of mind - which was accustomed to obsessing over what she has been told to do - Alexandrie was only concerned with following Dr. Armster's orders of getting the liquor for the injured patient.

...a loud rush of chattering people filled her senses, along with the overwhelmingly disgusting smell of alcohol; as Alexandrie pushed open the pub door, and made her way over to the bar; shaking as she tried to gather her thoughts, looking to her side, noticing quite an odd group talking to one another...

...she felt a strange aura radiating from a few of them; but with her nervous mind, was unable to focus her psychic enegry on them... and turned to the bartender, who had just served this bunch; stammering in a soft voice, "Quick... I be needing liquor... the doctor's orders, sir.

--
"If you lose your faith in me, please keep your faith in people." ~Rachel, The Dark Knight.

"Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, do not them no harm, for theirs is already a hard lot." ~Lisa, Castlevania.

very good. I very much liked it
You'll do fine. Again, I'll send an overview of "Lost Heritage" a little later. It is going to be rather long, but brief. this world is hugely detailed on my part.

--
This is my signature. It's the best one that you'll ever find, no matter where you go, ever. It's great, I mean, look at it! IT'S ADDICTING AND CRAZY! You wish yours was as great as mine, because mine actually has a little thing called, "awesome"

Yes.

Okayies, awesome. Can't wait to read it... just one more question for right now, would I have to write about characters who already exist, or am I given the freedom to create new characters; as long as they follow any specfic rules of the different races/species?

--
"If you lose your faith in me, please keep your faith in people." ~Rachel, The Dark Knight.

"Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, do not them no harm, for theirs is already a hard lot." ~Lisa, Castlevania.